


it's just me

by drifterlovemail



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Almost smut?, Body Dysphoria, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Charles Xavier, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 07:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19436488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drifterlovemail/pseuds/drifterlovemail
Summary: “Charles - Charles.” Erik insists.Erik takes Charles’ face in his hands, brings it close to him until it’s only mere inches away from him.“I won’t hurt you.” he whispers./Post XMA. Charles is left wounded, paranoid. and dysphoric after the ordeal with Apocalypse. Erik, in his stay, takes to wandering the halls when sleepless. (Trigger warning for dysphoria and talk of top surgery). A repost from 2016 since I remade my account.





	it's just me

**Author's Note:**

> Do I care about anything in xmen anymore except trans charles? debatable

It’s almost two by the time Erik finds himself walking to Charles’ door.

The school isn’t the same as it was in ‘62. Charles has changed it, and for the better. He spoke of the house being left to him after his mother died, and Erik can’t see anything but Charles in it now. The walls have scratches and burn marks across them, no doubt from the mutant children he can hear snoring behind the doors he passes. Before Cuba the Xavier mansion was lonely, dusty. Evidently only Charles and Raven having lived there. Now it’s vibrant and lively, full. The children smile despite their pain and their troubles. Erik suspects Charles and Hank have a lot to do with that.

Charles’ room blends in with all the others, and Erik peeks into a few bedrooms ( including one belonging to a purple skinned child who’d started hissing at him. He makes a mental note of which door that is ). It’s awhile before he finds the Professor’s.

Erik sighs as he turns the knob to the door. The hinges of it creak, and he remembers how old the mansion really is.

Charles sits there in his wheelchair, head hung back towards his shoulders. There's little light in the room, but the dull lamp has enough to let Erik know Charles is sleeping. And he knows how heavy Charles sleeps. Cautiously and quietly Erik steps into the room, wooden planks creaking underneath his feet. It’s colder than it was in the hall, close to making him shiver. Then again, he’s used to being dressed heavier than light sweatpants, even for sleep. Maybe he’s just used to being cold after years in Poland.

“Charles,” Erik mumbles, putting a hand on the Professor’s shoulder. 

Charles’ eyes flash open, hand going to his temple and then he’s gone from Erik’s sight. Erik takes a step back from confusion and shock at first, then remembering all Charles can do. The front is taken off a moment later and Charles is in sight again, panting.

“What did you do?” Erik asks, hand returning to Charles’ shoulder in an attempt to steady and calm him. 

“Hid myself.” Charles says, and Erik raises a brow. Hiding like that would never take that much out of him. “As well as all of the students.” he admits, and Erik almost laughs.

He’s seen Charles through the years. On the plane, in Washington. But never for long. It’s only know he gets to see the toll the years have taken on him in full effect. The toll Cuba has. Erik kneels down to get closer to Charles’ level, other hand resting on his side. Charles doesn’t push him away, at least.

As Charles rubs his eyes, Erik just stares. The crinkles around his eyes, the way he holds himself, in the very way he speaks - Charles has changed. He was a fool to think that Charles would come out unscathed through all the events they’ve put each other through. But at the heart of it, he’s still the man whose goal was to get as many PHDs on his wall as possible. He’s still the man who dove into raging waves just to save a stranger. He still has the good parts of him, his very core.

Erik remembers when Charles said he had good in him, too. He wonders if that’s true anymore. But he doesn’t think the school would take him in otherwise.

“It’s just me.”

That much makes Charles look up at him as he collects himself. His eyes are red, bags under his eyes from blatant exhaustion. Erik’s surprised he even made it to his bedroom, even if not his bed. 

“What are you doing in your chair?” Erik asks.

“I -” Charles cuts himself off with a groan as he tries to push himself up in his wheelchair. “ - was waiting for all the children to fall asleep. Then Hank had fallen asleep in his lab again. I couldn’t change.” 

Erik nods at the explanation, despite knowing otherwise. He’d seen Hank up and running in the lab just on the walk here. In the small time he’d been there he’d already seen Charles drag himself down to Jean’s room when she makes the school shake from her nightmares, as well as half the other students. Hank says he’s tried to take the spot instead, but they prefer Charles. Erik isn’t sure if that’s a mark on what an anxious mess Hank is or how much they adore their Professor. It’s a wonder to him that Charles gets any sleep at all. Though the current situation makes Erik sure he _doesn’t._

“Do you need help? It’s not safe for you to stay binded this long - ” Erik starts, eyes dropping to Charles’ chest, and it’s when Charles sees that that he cuts him off.

“What are you doing here, Erik?”

The sharpness in Charles’ tone makes Erik flinch. His hands drop from the other’s body and stay put in his lap.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Charles looks dissatisfied, but lets the topic rest. He rubs his forehead, gritting his teeth. It’s not the first time he’s done something like that, not by far, but Apocalypse left him weaker. It’s hard to do much of anything with his power since. He’s never been happy with not being able to do much for himself, but it was even worse now. So he looks up at Erik and sighs.

“Help me?” he asks.

Erik waits a moment to assure he’d heard him properly, but does nothing but silently nod. He stands and pulls the wheelchair closer to the bed carefully. The floorboards creak once again.

Charles seems eager to get into bed, but that much is hard to do. Charles grits his teeth in expectation of difficulty when Erik touches him, and Erik fears breaking him. Slowly Charles is laid onto the bed and he gives a sigh of relief. It’s been days since he got to lay in his bed, and even more since he’s had a good night sleep. Erik can’t say much better for himself. It isn’t the first night he’s started wandering the halls. He’s learned every corner of the building by now. This half of it, at least. 

“Do you need to change?” Erik says.

Charles nods. Despite how much his suits hid his waist and chest, they weren’t comfortable. Not to sleep in at least. 

“Where are your clothes?”

“The armoire,” Charles says, pointing to the corner. “Just get anything.”

Erik nods and quick steps to it, only grabbing the first pyjama-looking things he sees. He shoves a grey sweatshirt and pants into his hand before turning back to Charles. But when he does Charles flies to cover his chest with the shirt he’d just taken off. Erik closes the clothes between his fingers so he can put his hands up in surrender, faint smile across his face. Charles had never been good with his chest, Erik knows that. Slowly he steps back towards the bed silently, and Charles gets gradually less tense.

“It’s just me.” Erik says again. “It’s fine. I’ve seen you bare before, remember?”

He isn’t sure bringing up their past relationship is the smartest move after the business with Apocalypse. But then again he isn’t sure staying at the school was a good idea at all, as much as he’d like to.

Charles sighs in response, grip loosening on the now wrinkled shirt hiding his breasts.

“It’s not even you, really.” he admits. “People seeing me means acknowledging they exist at all.” 

Erik has nothing to say to that, so he doesn’t.

Instead he unfolds the sweatshirt whilst Charles watches, slowly letting the shirt drop into his lap. Erik looks up at him for a moment, waiting for permission, waiting for an ‘okay’. All Charles does is nod.

It’s odd. Being...like this. The longest they’d spent time together since Cuba was the plane to Washington all those years ago, and they’d both ruined that with their own issues. But now - there’s some degree of trust. It could be as if Cuba never happened, but Erik looks down at Charles’ legs again and realizes they can never pretend that.

Erik widens the bottom of the sweatshirt so Charles can slide in. Charles lifts his arms, leaves his chest out and himself vulnerable. Erik knows what that is, and how much it is. But he doesn’t speak and just pulls the sweatshirt over Charles’ head. He pauses when the other man hisses = then realizes it’s from touch, not in pain. When the clothes are finally on the Professor, Erik starts pulling at the bottoms to get it all the way. Carelessly, he slips his hands up the sweatshirt to get the back of it, hand gliding across Charles’ waist. The indents from Charles’ binder are there and deep, but before he can say anything Charles hisses and pushes him off his body.

“Charles - _Charles._ ” Erik insists.

Erik takes Charles’ face in his hands, brings it close to him until it’s only mere inches away from him.

“I won’t hurt you.” he whispers.

Charles’ face flashes with conflict. Ultimately he pushes Erik off. He crosses pulls the sleeves of the sweatshirt down and his cross his chest. No one can touch him now. A stranger wouldn’t know. That’s how he likes it. 

“Thank you for your help, Erik. I’m fine now.” Charles says sharply.

Charles turns into his bed, hugging his pillow with one of his arm as he lays half his face into it. 

“Why are you here anyway?” Charles asks again, more demanding.

“I’ve nowhere else to go.” Erik starts. “If you want me out of the school, Charles, I can be out by -”

“Not here. Here. In my bedroom. Why did you come in here in the first place?” he sighs. “Don’t make me read you, Erik.”

It’s then Erik pauses. Nothing he has to answer. He could walk out of here right now and be gone by morning. But more strain in this relationship is the last thing he wants. So he shifts on the bed, pulls the blanket over Charles. 

“I’m not welcome here.” he answers simply.

Charles looks up, confused with eyebrows knitted.

“It isn’t like it was before. Nobody...nobody I know is here. I can’t sleep here, yet I’ve nowhere else to go.” he thinks of Alex somberly. “They know me. Not fondly, either. But I don’t know anyone here. I’m alone. But you know me Charles.”

 _‘And yet you let me stay.’_ Goes unsaid, but Erik knows Charles hears. Charles doesn’t speak, but pushes himself up to sit, slowly but surely. 

Years of lost words hang off of Charles’ tongue. He places his hand over Erik’s cheek shakily, but doesn’t look him in the eye. It’s only a moment before Charles’ lips press to Erik’s, when Erik starts having an inner crisis. There’s so much there, and so much neither of them have talked about. Or even tried to, for that matter. There was a time they’d slept together in this bed, true. But he’d never so much as thought to take a step in this building again. Much less rebuild it - much less kiss Charles again.

It’s Charles that pulls Erik down, Charles that’s desperate. The kiss on the plane to Washington was different. Angry, almost. But now it seems like Charles is making up for lost time. Erik follows along - it’s not as if he hasn’t wanted this. He maneuvers himself to lay diagonally on the bed so nothing touches the other’s legs, their bodies only chest to chest. Erik props himself up on his elbows. Falling onto Charles’ chest is the last thing needed right now.

They’re messy and desperate yet slow and sure. As Charles’ hands crawl up Erik’s back, Erik’s hands glide up the other’s waist. He grips his sides, and it’s only when Charles gives a mumbled It’s okay does he go further. His thumbs glide across his waist, fingernails hitting just under his breast. Erik feels the indentations of Charles wearing his binder again, and breaks away from kissing him.

“Charles -” he starts, interrupted by the other catching his mouth again. “ _Charles._ It isn’t safe.” he insists.

Charles doesn’t listen, kissing his neck. Erik knows he wants to ignore, wants to hide that part of him. Erik won’t let him to this point.

“Does Hank know?” It isn’t a threat by any means, but it makes Charles stop. 

He doesn’t move, hands wrapped around the back of Erik’s neck. Lips are hardly swollen but his breath is slowed, and he keeps that to stall as long as possible. No, no Hank doesn’t know. Hank believes that Charles wanted to try getting to bed himself. _Hank_ doesn’t know that Charles is simply too stubborn and too paranoid of his students having nightmares to actually go to bed. Hank doesn’t know that after Apocalypse simply having his body has been a living hell.

“No.” Charles says simply, letting go of Erik. 

Erik lays down next to Charles, propped up on an elbow. This isn’t his area. This isn’t something he can help. But not something he can harm, either, he thinks.

“You’ll get hurt.”

“If I take it off, I see them. I have to remember. I have to be reminded I have them.”

Charles stares up at the ceiling as he says it. He isn’t angry, Erik thinks. Just...frustrated.

“You can get them removed.” he points out. “Didn’t you want that? Before everything happened?” 

Erik puts genuine effort in trying to sound kind. He knows Charles had wanted surgery on his chest but waited until after he became a Professor for it. As if it was a reward. But Moira found and recruited him after that and...everything afterwards was a mess.

“Never got to it.” Charles says, and finally turns his head to look at Erik. He’s surprised by the concerned face he sees. “Moira found me and Shaw happened and then it was recovery from Cuba and then...I was too much of a wreck to do anything. Everything after Washington was putting the school and myself back together.”

Erik listens to Charles ramble on contently, and cautiously places a hand on his stomach. It’s meant to be comforting. When Charles doesn’t flinch or pull away, it stays.

“What about now? Apocalypse is gone. After you’re together you could do it then.”

Charles shakes his head quickly, moving his body into a defensive state and pulling away from Erik as if it was some great offense.

“I can’t - I can’t even sleep because of the students, Erik. If something happens, they need me. I can’t be laid up recovering from something unnecessary that only happened for my own benefit. They can’t get hurt. Alex, Sean, Darwin, I -”

When he drawls off, Erik knows what he means. He wishes he could tell him he was being irrational.

“Promise me you’ll be safer with it from now on.”

“I need to be covered, Erik. And I can’t -”

“For them, Charles. If not for yourself. You can’t do anything for them if you hurt yourself.”

It’s that argument that sets it in for Charles. That anything going on with the children needs him to be there. It’s hard enough now as is. But he looks up at Erik, and he knows he means it. And knows he’s genuinely worried. Surgery is a long way from where he is - but he can’t deny it’s always been a hope. A ‘what if’. Erik lays against the bed, and Charles shifts his head onto his chest, laying on his side. As he lives out one of his ‘what if’s, he realizes it’s still possible.

“You can still get that surgery.” Erik tells him. He tells Charles he can still calm down the students telepathically, still speak to them. That it’d only be for a little while. That Hank is there. He doesn’t say that he’ll be there.

Erik can't sleep until he feels Charles relax against him and his breathing steady. All his anxiety relieves for a little while after that. But even after, he can't drift off.

When they wake up the next day, Hank is still in the lab. He never slept in the first place.


End file.
